The Worth of An Enemy
by ScribbleDream
Summary: PG13. And we must unite inside her, or crumble from within. Thus far, no one has taken the Sorting Hat's words to heart. But with the war seeming futile, in Harry's 7th year, it seems to be time to turn enemies into allies, and hatred into trust.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: The Worth of an Enemy  
**Author**: ScribbleDream  
**Rating**: PG-13 (just in case, language and such silly things as that)  
**Summary**: "And we must unite inside her, or crumble from within." Thus far, no one has taken the Sorting Hat's words to heart. But with the war seeming futile, in Harry's 7th year, it seems to be time to turn enemies into allies, and hatred into trust.  
**Author's Notes**: This is the first thing I have written in a very long while, and I apologize for the lack of updates... I just haven't been into my other stories. However, I do love this one, so I think that it will actually be finished. No pairings as of yet, but there will be romance, worry not! Reviews good, constructive criticism better. Um... let's see... yes, I think I've covered it all.  
Much love,  
Scribs

* * *

_"I don't know a greater advantage than to appreciate the worth of an enemy." Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

Chapter One

Professor Minerva McGonagall felt very out-of-place in her new office. She had been in this office countless times, but never on this end of the desk, and never with her own things on the shelves. She felt as though she was imposing on some sanctity that the Board of Education had overlooked when they appointed her. She had the childish, semi-hopeful notion that Albus would walk in at any moment and calmly ask her what she was doing in his seat.

She sighed and sipped her tea. It was a lovely hope, but a false one.

Minerva could hear rain pelting on the roof of the tower. It was a soft, relaxing sound, muffled against the many spells and wards that had been put on this office. It made it seem as if it was only drizzling, when Minerva knew from looking out the window that there was quite a storm going on outside. Sometimes she thought she heard the lightning, but it was such a dull sound that she couldn't be sure. She wondered how cold it must be outside.

She shivered at the thought. She had never liked the rain. She didn't disliked it, but she didn't liked it either. So many things were inconvenienced by the rain, and Minerva was not one for inconveniences.

Minerva suddenly became aware, her ears being as sharp as a cat's, of someone coming up the stairs of her office. Two someones. Three. They were yelling, and even with the wards and a normal person's hearing, it would have been hard not to notice them now. Two of the someones were trying to get the third to stop and come back, but the third someone was shouting some very colorful words at them and otherwise ignoring their pleas. As they neared her door, Minerva recognized the first two voices as Madame Pomfrey and Argus Filch. The third was familiar, but she couldn't place it.

"You come back here this instant, young man!" cried Madame Pomfrey's fussing voice. "You need to come with me to infirmary before seeing the Headmistress"

"Sod off, you flaming fu-"

At this vulgarity, Minerva stood up in an instant and, waving her wand nimbly, opened the door. She opened her mouth to scold whoever had been making the racket, but instead her breath caught in her throat. Before her stood a young man, dripping wet and battered nearly to death, that she had never thought to see again inside her school.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, unable to keep her eyes from widening and her voice from shuddering a bit. His sharp glare intensified at the sound of his name. So many thoughts were running through her head. She concentrated on the most prominent one: _How dare he?_

"I'm sorry, Headmistress, but we couldn't stop him from coming up to ya." Minerva had barely registered Filch, or Madame Pomfrey, standing on the first step to the landing. They seemed to draw back from Malfoy, as if afraid that she would think they were associated with him.

She turned back to Malfoy, who was smirking with grim satisfaction, and he raised an eyebrow as if to say, _Damn straight, they couldn't stop me_.

Minerva promptly set her mouth into a prim line. "Mr. Malfoy," she said again, fighting the name even as it came out of her mouth. It was a damned name, a traitor's name. _He helped kill Albus_. "You've got quite a lot of nerve showing up here. You're lucky."

"Lucky?" he repeated with a coolly perplexed look.

"That you weren't killed as soon as you entered the grounds," Minerva replied. The statement seemed to shock him, if only for a moment, after which he retained his indifference.

"If that is what you meant to do with me," he said, "your security is quite lax. I made it safely here, didn't I?"

Minerva studied the boy. His face was bruised and bloodied, and by the looks of his tattered clothes, what was underneath them hadn't fared much better against whatever foe he had fought. "Safely" wasn't the word that she would have used.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?" she demanded, having the slightly embarrassing wish that she could achieve his coolness.

His eyes darkened, though the rest of him remained uneffected. "I needed to speak with you."

"I do not speak to traitors and murderers, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall said, coldly. "You have fifteen minutes to leave the premises before I call the Ministry to arrest you-"

"How can I be a murderer, Professor," Malfoy interrupted through clenched teeth, "_when I didn't kill anyone_!"

Minerva was a bit too shocked to say anything. She had never had a student, current or former, raise his voice to her. She opened her mouth to say something, although she still wasn't sure what it was, but he continued in a softer but somehow more dangerous tone.

"I tried, didn't I? But I couldn't do it. I didn't kill your precious Dumbledore. I didn't kill anyone. And... and I wouldn't, either, unless I had to. Not anymore... not after I found out what they were..."

It was hard to miss the note of sadness and regret in the last statement. Minerva looked at the boy (for he was only a boy really), suddenly much more compassionate.

She became painfully aware of the staring eyes of Filch and Madame Pomfrey. Without looking their way, she motioned for Malfoy to come toward her. "Come here, Mr. Malfoy. You have things to explain to me."

She shut the door behind them, knowing that her quiet evening in her office was about to be postponed indefinitely.

* * *

Hermione Granger had a plan.

George Weasley was the first to notice it. About a week and a half into the summer vacations she began to behave suspiciously. Sneaking off to her room in the middle of meals. Huddling in a corner with her parchement and a quill. Carefully evading questions as to what she was doing. It was much the same way that he and Fred had spent their time at Hogwarts. George knew plotting when he saw it.

Fred would have noticed to, had he been paying any attention. When George alerted him to his suspicions, Fred was quick to agree that Hermione was, indeed, planning something. Fred, at first finding the whole thing rather amusing, spent much of his time trying to find out what exactly it was that Hermione was doing, but to no avail. George tried to leave her alone as much as possible, but if he would have been lying had he said he wasn't curious.

It wasn't long before most of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place knew that Hermione had something in the works. Despite many theories as to what it was, no one was able to give Fred or George any actual facts about it. Fred had long since lost any amusement from Hermione's plan, and was now generally in a foul mood whenever it was brought up.

"She's bloody good at keeping things under wraps, isn't she?" Fred fumed at his brother, pacing the study they had claimed as their own early on in the summer. Though they still lived in the apartment above their shop, they had been spending much more time at Number Twelve lately, to be closer to their family. Neither had said it to the other, but they both knew that it was true.

George, who lay sprawled out on the tattered couch of the small, grimy room, nodded. "We should have included her in some of our schemes at school, eh, Fred? She'd have been a good conspirator."

"She wouldn't have done it," Fred said in a tense, slightly envious voice. "Bloody girl only breaks the rules when it fits her needs, and not anyone elses."

"Too true, mate," agreed George, folding his arms under his head and staring at the spider webs on the ceiling. "What do you think all of it's about?"

"Hell if I know," said Fred, flopping himself into the old, leather swivel chair next to their desk. He rested his forehead in his hand and frowned. "It's probably nothing important. Some way to get Ron to notice her, or some stupid plot to free those bloody House Elves she used to rave about."

"If it's so stupid," George teased, "it shouldn't bother you so much."

Fred glared at the floor and said nothing. George watched his brother and could nearly see the wheels in his mind turning. He gave a cheeky half grin that Fred didn't see, and sat up.

He knew why the whole thing bothered Fred. Fred was a brilliant planner, the closest thing to a criminal mastermind that George had ever met. Fred could take almost anything and turn it into a prank. He had more ideas than anyone George knew. To think that someone who had tried to squash so many of those ideas was making plans of her own... it was driving Fred insane.

"Ron and Harry don't even know," Fred said suddenly. "The bloody Golden Trio doesn't even know."

"Or maybe they do and they just aren't telling you," said George. Fred dismissed it with a wave of his hand as he stood up to pace again.

"If Ron knew, I would know that he knew," Fred explained, his frown deepening. "I know how to know when he knows something that he doesn't think you know, especially if you're not suppose to know that he knows it."

George raised an amused eyebrow. Fred rolled his eyes. "Don't pretend you didn't understand that," he said, and continued to glare at the floorboards. George grinned. Of course he had understood it - he understood everything Fred said, even if no one else did.

Which, granted, was most of the time.

There was a knock at the study door. Fred looked up and glared at it instead of the floor, making no motions towards the door. George sighed and yelled, "Go away!"

Ginny opened the door, paying no mind at all to their obvious distaste. "Mum says dinner's almost ready and she wants you two down there to help set the table."

"Tell her to make Ron do it," Fred said.

"Ron's at the Ministry with Dad."

"Tell her to make you do it then," Fred growled. "We're busy."

Ginny crossed her arms and raised a warning eyebrow at them. "So is the rest of the world," Ginny said. "And they're doing a lot more important things than you are."

"You don't even know what we're doing, baby sister," Fred pointed out.

"I most certainly do," Ginny replied, sitting on the couch next to George. "And I also know that you will never figure out what Hermione is doing. She hasn't told anybody anything about it, not even me."

"You sound bitter," George said, grinning. Ginny glared at him.

"Hermione is allowed to keep whatever secrets she wants to," she replied, attempting haughtiness, and almost succeeding. Fred and George exchanged a skeptical look. Ginny rolled her eyes and stomped out of the room.

"Go to dinner!" she shouted over her shoulder. Fred and George looked at each other and started to walk downstairs.

"Why is it that women, be it our little sister or Hermione or what have you, have so much control over us?" George marvelled out loud. Fred shrugged.

"I don't know. But it is really beginning to piss me off."

* * *

Harry stared at the page in front of him, the dim lighting of the fourth floor bedchamber making his eyes hurt. He had read the same paragraph six or seven times, and yet he still had no idea what it said.

Harry was dimmly aware of Buckbeak staring at him. Harry reached out a hand to pet the hippogriff, who made a noise halfway between a purr and a hoot. Harry smiled, not looking up from his book. He concentrated on the feathers in between his fingers, on the way Buckbeak's chest heaved up and down when he breathed, and tried desperately to breathe the same way.

He realized it had been a very long time since he had last relaxed.

Harry had overtaken the fourth floor bedchamber as his own almost as soon as moving into Number Twelve, finding that it was nearly the only place that his constant memories of his godfather didn't hurt.

He had thought that when he moved into Number Twelve he would have everything under control, but it seemed as though everything in the house reminded him of Sirius. He had begun, at first, to be very depressed, until finding out that Buckbeak was going through quite a similar predicament. Harry heard one day from Lupin that Buckbeak had refused to eat for almost a week. Harry had instantly gone to his side. It turned out that Harry was the only person who could calm Buckbeak's nerves.

The strange part was, it didn't bother Harry at all that the only person he felt shared the same grief for Sirius that he himself did couldn't even talk about it. In fact, he found himself rather enjoying the silence.

"Harry?" a voice called softly through the door. Harry recognized it almost instantly, and wished that he hadn't.

"Come in, Ginny," he said, fighting hard to keep the sigh from his voice. She opened the door and slipped into the room through the smallest crack possible. She closed the door and leaned against it.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she apologized. He saw her blushing, even in the dark. "Mum is having me call everyone to dinner, and she wanted to know if you'd be eating with us today."

"I don't think so, Ginny," Harry replied, eyes downcast. She looked so disappointed.

"It's just... well, it's Sturgis Podmore's birthday today, and we were going to celebrate."

A dim flash of recognition hit Harry as he realized he had known it was Sturgis's birthday, but hadn't bothered to remember it. "Have fun, then," Harry said. "There hasn't been much to celebrate for a long time."

"Not that you would know." Harry was surprised at the hint of bitterness that she obviously hadn't been trying very hard to restrain.

"Excuse me?"

"Harry, don't play stupid," she spat at him. "Do you realize there are members of the Order whom you haven't even met? You're the bloody Chosen One, for Merlin's sake, and you haven't left this pitiful room for weeks!"

Buckbeak gave an offended growl and Ginny sent him an apologetic look.

"I'm busy, Ginny," Harry said as if that finalized everything. He should have known better. Ginny was no the type of person to let things go.

"Do you have any idea what that's doing for morale?" she demanded of him, hands on hips, looking like a skinnier, younger version of her mother scolding the twins. "Everyone thinks you've given up! No one even knows what you're doing, and they're confused, and their scared, and they need you. There's even a rumor that you're not going back to Hogwarts next year."

Harry looked down. "I'm not, Gin."

"That is possibly the stupidest decision you could make," she informed him.

"If I go back to Hogwarts, it will be a target."

"It's already a target, Harry!" Ginny cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "Every child going to school next year knows it's a target. But they had hope, at first, because they thought that you'd be there to protect them if anything happened. I've been talking with some of the girls in my year, and they're absolutely terrified of going to school if you're not going be there."

"My being there is not going to help anything," Harry pointed out. "I can't protect the entire school."

"You don't have to," Ginny said, sounding calmer. "You just need to make it seem like you can."

Harry looked at her, randomly wondering what she would think if he kissed her just then. He knew that he couldn't, because it couldn't lead to anything. He wouldn't let her become a target. He just... he knew that she was right. He hadn't been getting enough contact with people, lately, especially people he cared about. Not for the first time he wished that he could have her without it being a danger to her... but he would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to her.

"Come down to dinner, Harry," she said, softly, her eyes sparkling sadly. "We miss you... _I_ miss you..."

"Nothing can come from this, Ginny," he whispered.

"I know," she agreed. "I just... just come down, okay?"

He nodded and watched her leave. He waited a few seconds after the door clicked shut to stand up and close his book. He patted Buckbeak's head as he passed him, and left the darkened room. It didn't seem much emptier without him.

* * *

A/N: Don't forget to review! I really appreciate them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Thanks for the reviews, they were _tres excellente_! They made me all warm and fuzzy inside. Keep 'em coming, and remember, I don't have an editor, so if you find anything that doesn't make sense, even if it's just awkward, tell me, and I'll fix it pronto!  
Oh, yeah, and the language in this chapter is... not the best for small eyes... so just be careful, kay?  
Much love to all who read or review, or both!  
Scribs

_

* * *

"May God have mercy on my soul for the deaths on my name and for the treachery I committed. Betrayal of God and country, what a horrible thing it is." E. Howard Hunt_

Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy was not used to feeling guilty, so he didn't.

He was supposed to be, he knew, and at one point or another he had been. After all, he'd helped kill a man. No one did that without feeling anything. But after a while, he found he didn't like the feeling of regret, and did away with it all together. It never helped anybody anyway. What he was focusing on now was revenge.

After he had escaped Hogwarts at the end of the year with Snape and the other Death Eaters, he was not greeted by the Dark Lord with any reverence at all. He would have been stupid to think that he would be welcomed back with open arms, but he had in no way expected what he got. A cold, hard voice, whispering from the shadow of a throne, "_Crucio!_"

And he had never expected the pain. Like his body was sliced up and they pored lemon juice in the wounds and then set him on fire. Like every bone in his body was breaking, every muscle was spasming, every blood vessel was exploding. He almost went insane in just the first few minutes, unaware of anything but the horrible, awful, indescribable pain.

Sometimes pain goes away once you get used to it, but this never relented, never stopped, never dulled, never gave him the tiniest bit of relief. He thought that he would die there, cringing in pain in front of the Dark Lord, screaming for his father, his mother, his bloody second cousin, anyone who would save him. He sort of wished they would just kill him.

Then the pain stopped suddenly, and Draco was able to sense other things besides the torture. He still tingled with the memory of the agony, but it was gone, and that was all that mattered.

"You failed me," said the cruel voice. It sounded almost happy.

There was a titter of speech behind Draco, but he couldn't turn his head to see who was speaking. He didn't particularly care. Whoever it was had just watched him as he was tortured, and they didn't deserve his attention.

"Nothing to say, boy?" teased the voice, so close to laughing it made Draco's eyes water. "No, I suppose you wouldn't have anything to say."

"Nothing you would want to hear, my Lord," Draco said, his voice almost a whimper. It pained him to sound so weak, especially when his words were not. It sort of ruined the whole effect. "I refuse to give excuses. They mean nothing anymore."

"I must say I admire that, boy," the Dark Lord replied. Draco looked up at him, surprised. He was twirling his wand absently in his long, willowly fingers. "Most of my other protegé's would be quick to put blame on some other factor besides themselves."

Draco winced at the words. _Some other factor_. So that was all he was. A factor.

"But then again," the Dark Lord continued, "you're probably just doing that to impress me. It wouldn't be the first time. Not scapegoating does not make you stronger than I, boy. After all, if you were strong, well... you'd be able to resist me, wouldn't you? _Imperio!_"

Draco felt no more pain, not even its memory. He felt calm and blissfully free. He felt as if he'd just closed his eyes and laid outside in the sun. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't mind it.

_Turn around_, a small, silky voice said inside his head. _Go ahead. Just turn around._

And so he did. And as he did, he realized what was happening. And he tried to fight back, he did, but he wasn't strong enough. It was so easy, just to release himself to that tiny, wonderful voice...

When he turned, he saw the Death Eaters, complete in mask and robes. They did not seem to be enjoying his pain very much, but they weren't helping either. He would have been upset, had it not been for this wonderful feeling that this so called "curse" brought him.

But then he saw the unmistakable long, blond hair spilling down from the hood of the robes, the all too familiar grimace of displeasure on the mouth of his father.

His bloody _father_.

It snapped him out of his reverie. His father was just standing there, had been standing there watching his son being Crucio'd half to death. He'd heard his screams for help, how could he not? He'd seen him writhing, and he must have smelt his fear. And he had done nothing.

His fucking father.

Voldemort had probably thought that the knowledge that his father was looking on as he was tortured would break him. It did the exact opposite. It made him stronger. He must survive this. He mustn't give in, because if he did, his father would never know the pain that he had known. So much worse than that of the Cruciatus curse - the pain of betrayal.

His escape had been so foggy for him. He remembered Snape in his cell, torturing him with another Death Eater, MacNair, whom he had never liked at all. He remembered trying to concentrate on his father's face as he had last seen it, masked and grimacing, as he always did when being Crucio'd. It didn't help much, but it did keep him sane. He remembered everything going black. He remembered waking up just outside of Hogsmeade, in a small cave in the mountains. He remembered looking at his bruises and cuts (Sometimes, when the Death Eaters were particularly frusterated with something, the Dark Lord would allow them to beat him, instead of using magic against him. Apparently flogging someone was a lot more stress relieving than waving your wand at them.) and thinking that, as long as nothing was broken in his legs, he would be able to make it to Hogwarts. He had also been pleased to see that he somehow had his wand back.

He remembered wondering if he should even go to Hogwarts at all. Would they even want him after what he'd done?

The guilt then began to settle into his stomach, making him slightly nauseous. He had helped kill Dumbledore. Even though he had barely ever spoken to Dumbledore, he had never hated the man as his father had. In fact, he was almost always comforted by his presence.

But, hesighed to himself, there was no point in feeling guilty now. It never helped anybody out of anything.

It all turned out okay anyway. Professor McGonagall had taken a lot of convincing, but after telling his story and explaining that there was no way in hell he would ever go back to those... those _maniacs_, McGonagall had sent him to the Hospital Wing to be cared for by Madame Pomfrey, who was under strict orders to treat him as "any other student."

Meaning, of course, that in their eyes, he wasn't just any other student.

After a week or so of lying in bed alone, he became bored with the whole affair. He took to leaving the Hospital Wing at night, when he was sure that Madame Pomfrey was asleep. Most of the teachers were on vacation or at home during the holidays, so at night there was no one to tell him where to be. He wandered the dark, cold hallways alone, enjoying the anonymity of the torchless corridors, and felt at home with nothing to prove to anyone.

Then one night, as he was rounding a corner in silent contemplation, he nearly ran right into three oddly familiar figures. For a moment the four of them blinked at each other, until one of the tall, redheaded boys came to his senses. Well... sort of.

"Bloody hell," he said, almost non-chalantly. "Is that Malfoy?"

* * *

Hermione knew they weren't supposed to leave Grimmauld Place. That had been made very clear to them by Mrs. Weasley at the beginning of the summer. No leaving the property, especially not alone, and especially not at night. 

But this was important. Important and it must be done discreetly. Which meant it had to be done both alone and under the cover of night.

When Hermione Apparated as close to Hogwarts as she could get herself, it was nearly midnight. She wished she had thought to bring a cloak with her - it was freezing around the Forbidden Forest at night. As it was, all she had on was an old pair of sneakers, a T-shirt and faded jeans. Her hair was up in a rather messy ponytail, and she knew she didn't look terribly professional, but she didn't particularly care. She wasn't looking for permission, just advice.

In her arms she held all of her information in a sleek, black, leather portfolio that her father had gotten her some years earlier, before she had gotten into Hogwarts. Back when he and Mum thought she'd be going to Muggle schools all her life. After all, back then there really hadn't been any alternative.

She stood in front of the path through the Forbidden Forest that lead to Hogwarts and tried desperately to remember what she was doing here, and then what she was going to say. As she went through it all in her mind, the distinct popping sound of someone Apparating beside her made her jump nearly out of her skin.

Strike that. Two someones. Two redheaded and identical someones.

"Fred! George! What on Earth are you doing here?" she demanded in a lecturing tone, clutching her portfolio to her chest. Fred stepped away from the trees and grinned mischeviously at her.

"We could ask you the same thing, Miss Granger," he said, seeming very proud of himself. George still stood slightly in the shadows, looking almost uncomfortable, but he managed to smirk along with his brother.

"Yes. But I wouldn't answer you."

"Then neither will we," George replied, winking at her. She glared at the both of them.

"How did you know I was here, anyway?" she asked them after a moment of angry silence.

"Ah, that is the genius part, isn't it, George?"

"Quite so, Fred," George replied, finally walking into the moonlight. It wasn't quite full yet, but it was big enough to help them see each other. "Would you like to explain, dear brother?"

"Not at all. This was your brilliance, you go ahead and tell the lady."

"Right," agreed George. He cleared his throat dramatically. "Have you ever heard of a device called a Shadowing Stone?"

Hermione shook her head. It was a new term to her. George looked pleased.

"Of course you haven't," he said, "as Fred and I just invented them, and they aren't on the market yet. How it works is by putting a series of Protean-like Charms on two stones of about the same appearance and weight, and then giving one stone to someone, the other stone will tell us where that person goes. All we had to do was slip one stone into the pocket of your jeans and wait for ours to glow and tell us where you were Apparating to. It's quite impressive, no?"

"No," Hermione spat, "it's sneaky and downright loathesome."

George and Fred bowed. "Thank you," Fred answered. "We do try."

"You two are despicable," she said. "Don't you have anything better to do than follow me around?"

They looked at each other, puzzled, then looked back at her.

"No."

"Not really."

"Can't think of a thing."

"You're pathetic then," Hermione decided, pushing past them and starting down the path. "And you might as well go home," she called back to them, "because I'm not going to tell you what I'm here for."

"Ah, but dear Hermione," Fred said, quickly catching up to her, "you might need to be protected."

"Protected?" she repeated, disgusted with the two of them.

"Exactly," George said. "What kind of friends would we be if we were to let you wander about the Forbidden Forest in the dead of night all by yourself?"

"It's rather dangerous, you know."

"And spooky."

"And did we mention dangerous?"

"I think we did, but I'm sure the emphasis was necessary."

"Naturally, it's a very important point."

"Do you two ever shut up?" Hermione demanded. Although she would much rather be by herself, she had to admit, the Forest was a bit... menacing, and it was kind of nice to have two rather strong boys next to her.

"As you wish," George said, bowing again. Hermione just rolled her eyes.

By the time they entered the castle, it was nearly one o'clock and Fred and George hadn't said anything to her, obnoxiously true to their word. Even when she asked them direct questions, they just winked at her knowingly and continued on their way. Even when Hermione had heard a terrifying howling sound off in the distance and jumped back into George, nearly toppling him over, he had merely patted her shoulder comfortingly and set her back straight on the path, eye twinkling.

_Damn them both, stupid prats_, she thought, and she wasn't normally one to swear, even in the confines of her mind.

The castle doors were unlocked, as they always were. It was to make everyone in need feel welcome, Hermione had read in _Hogwarts: A History_. Helga Hufflepuff had insisted on it back when the castles was being founded, and had herself put a charm on the doors that made them impossible to lock.

Hermione and the twins stepped into the Entrance Hall, which seemed so much more vast when there weren't any torches to light it. Hermione took out her wand and whispered, "_Lumos._" The twins followed suit.

They followed Hermione without hesitation up the stairs. In silence they walked through the empty corridors that seemed to filled with the echoes of their footsteps. At one point, Hermione thought she heard someone else's footsteps along with theirs, but resigned it to imagination.

And then they turned the corner and nearly fell on top of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's first instinct was to tell him to go bother someone who cared about his opinion, but then she realized that he hadn't said anything to her yet. Her next instinct was to wonder what in the world he was doing at Hogwarts after his attempted assassination on Professor Dumbledore.

After that thought, her next instinct was to strangle him, but she was too shocked to move. What was he doing here?

"Bloody hell," said Fred to her left. "Is that Malfoy?"

That seemed to wake George up as he pointed his wand directly at Malfoy's throat and shouted, "_Petrificus Totalus!_" as loud as was humanly possible. The force of the spell was so strong that Malfoy was thrown to the opposite wall and seemed to stick there a foot or so above the ground before falling to the floor.

"George!" Hermione shrieked.

"Git deserved it," George muttered. Fred looked as though he agreed.

"He was probably sneaking in anyway, Hermione," Fred said. "Why else would he be here?"

"I wasn't arguing," she replied heavily. "I was just disappointed that the Body-Binding Curse was the worst thing you could think of."

"Oh, I thought of worse, but I'm pretty sure they'd land me in Azkaban for a stint," George replied as the three of them walked calmly over to Malfoy.

"I think you bruised him, George," Fred observed, noting the lacerations that seemed to be all over the vile creature in front of them. George shrugged absentmindedly.

"Oops?"

"I don't think you did that," Hermione said, leaning her portfolio against the wall and kneeling down next to him. Malfoy's eyes were pleading at her. She rolled her own at him. "They look like they're healed. Or almost anyway."

"Miss Granger! Mr. Weasleys!" said a shrill, scandalized voice. They turned to see Madame Pomfrey rushing at them with her night dress pulled up from her ankles, showing off fluffy, pink slippers. "What are you doing to this poor child?"

"We caught him sneaking around the corridors, Madame," Fred said, sounding official. Madame Pomfrey clucked her tongue as she drew closer.

"Poor thing... could have been killed..."

"No, we're fine, Madame," Hermione explained. "George petrified him before he could-"

Madame Pomfrey brushed past them as roughly as someone that inherently gentle could. "Not you! _Him_. He's only just begun to heal and you're putting him through so much trauma."

Hermione and the twins had no idea what to say.

She muttered the counter-curse at Malfoy and he instantly jumped to his feet. He pulled his wand out of his robes. Hermione was the closest to him, so he pointed it directly at her throat. Fred and George jumped in the way. George hid her behind his arm protectively.

"You'll pay for that, Weasley," Draco hissed. Fred and George just glared.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you please," Madame Pomfrey said, ignoring the fight that seemed about to start and grabbing the boy by the back of his hood and starting to frog march him back in the direction of the Infirmary. "You should be in bed. No wonder you've been sleeping all day. I really shall have to report this to the Headmistress. Which reminds me, she's in her office, Hermione, she's been expecting you for at least half an hour now, I think. The password is _Aurora_. And try not to attack anymore students under my care on your way there. _Honestly_."

Malfoy sneered back at them, looking diginified even as a woman half his size forced him down the corridor. George still stood in front of Hermione, apparently not wanting to give the prat a free shot.

"What the bloody hell does she _mean_, 'under her care?'" Fred raged almost as soon as they were out of earshot and George finally dropped his arm from in front of Hermione. "When did that sodding bastard come to be protected by the Hogwarts nurse? After what he did? They should have thrown him off the fucking North Tower for what he tried to do, and he's being pampered and protected in the bloody infirmary! The world's gone completely fucking mad!"

"I'll ask McGonagall when we get up there," Hermione said, trying not to show how much the encounter had flustered her. She picked up her portfolio and clutched it to her chest. "Let's go, shall we?"

They began again to walk towards the gargoyle statue that guarded Professor McGonagall's office, and George asked, "What did Madame Pomfrey mean when she said that McGonagall was expecting you?"

"Well I did make an appointment, you know," Hermione said. It sounded a bit like a lecture was coming on. "I'm not about to show up in the middle of the night without telling the Headmistress that I'm coming. How rude do you think I am?"

Fred opened his mouth, thought better of speaking, and closed it again. George stifled a laugh.

"_Aurora_," Hermione said authoritatively. The gargoyle spun out of the way, and they walked up the stairs. When they reached the top, Hermione knocked on the door politely. After a few moments, Professor McGonagall answered.

"Hello, Miss Granger, I see you've brought an entourage," she said, though not disapprovingly. "It is nice to see you again, Fred, George."

"They sort of brought themselves, actually, Professor," Hermione said, glaring at the two of them. Before she could say anything else though, Fred had pushed his way in front of her.

"If you'll pardon the interruption, Headmistress, I have a very important question-"

"Fred!" Hermione cried.

"What is Malfoy doing here?" George continued for his brother. Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrow and persed her lips.

"I do not see how that is any of your business," she said, "but if you must know, he fell on hard times and came to me for protection from those whom he once followed. He is of no threat to you or anyone else for that matter, and until he proves otherwise to me, I am going to trust him. He is my student for now. I am going to give him a second chance. That is all I'm going to say on the matter."

"He doesn't deserve a second chance!" Fred said. Hermione thought his voice was a little louder than he had probably intended it to be.

"I do not see how it is your decision, Mr. Weasley." She looked down at Hermione. "I hope they're not involved in the meeting you wanted to hold with me."

"No, Professor," Hermione said. "In fact, they're not allowed to hear it."

"What?" Fred and George said at the same time, mouths open.

"We came all the way for nothing?"

"Protected you from the Forbidden Forest-"

"-not to mention Malfoy-"

"-used all our resources-"

"-all our assets-"

"- and it was all for nothing?" They somehow managed to finish together. Hermione just looked at them sternly.

"It was your own fault for following me and you're hearing none of this until I talk to Professor McGonagall about it. Now, if you'll excuse me." The two women walked into the office and the Headmistress closed the door behind them.

Fred stared at it with no expression on his face. George watched his brother, to make sure he wouldn't explode or something.

"You know," Fred sighed, "sometimes I absolutely _hate _that girl."

George laughed. "She's not so bad. You have to admit she's got moxie."

"There is such a thing as too much moxie, brother," Fred said.

"I dunno," George replied, resigning himself to sit on the top step. "I think it's kind of fun."

Fred looked at him as if he had just said necrophilia was not such a bad practice. "Sometimes I hate you too."


End file.
